


Five times Tom Theisman met Aral Vorkosigan

by Franavu



Category: Honor Harrington Series - David Weber, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: 5 Times, Crossover, Gen, Spoilers up to Ashes of Victory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franavu/pseuds/Franavu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Aral and the five times they meet in an extradimensional bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Tom Theisman met Aral Vorkosigan

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пять раз, когда Том Тейсман виделся с Эйрелом Форкосиганом](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6504421) by [jetta_e_rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetta_e_rus/pseuds/jetta_e_rus)



> After 13 months I'm finally done with this :sighs: Watch out for spoilers for the Honorverse.

_There is a bar in time and space. It is not cheerful like the Captain's Table, where ship's captains meet to drink, laugh and tell stories. This is a different kind of bar; those who meet here are powerful men, yes, captains and admirals, generals and statesmen. But they mostly drink in silence. Only those who need it can find the place, and those who find it are usually in great need indeed. And to their need they may meet someone who will ease their pain and glue their shattered pieces back together..._

-1-

The first time Tom Theisman finds the bar, it is as a dusty door in a Grayson prison camp. Going through it, he finds a long, dim, wood-panelled room, with a bar running along the left side. Strangely enough archaic gas lamps flicker on the walls. Small tables are placed in booths along the right wall, with a walking space between them and the bar. There is a large fireplace on the far wall, with a fire burning merrily. The place is mostly empty; only two people quietly talking at one of the tables and a lone man drinking at the bar.

The quiet attracts Tom and he sits down a few seats from the lone man. The other looks briefly at him and then stares back into his stone mug. He is of middle age, physically fit, with thick grey hair and a heavy-set almost brutal face with a scar on his chin. Tom doesn't recognize him and silently wonders if he is still in that Grayson camp, or somewhere entirely different.

The bartender comes up to him and puts a bottle down in front of him. He is surprised as he hasn't ordered anything, but when he looks down he sees it is a popular Havenite prole beer. It is the taste of his childhood, and one of its few comforts. Again he wonders about the place.

"Don't think to hard on it, boy, you'll only give yourself a headache." The man next to him says suddenly. "Only people who need it find this place, you'll likely won't see anyone you know here...thankfully."

"What do you mean, need it?" Tom asks, bewildered.

"You heard about the Captain's Table?" The man asks. Tom nods mutely. "This place is like that, but different. It is for men...and women too, I suppose, of authority; leaders, ship's captains, admirals, colonels, generals, statesmen, rulers. They come here when their duties lie heavy on their hearts, when the weight becomes too much to bear, when their honour is shattered, when they think they cannot go on but must. That's when they find this place. And with it they sometimes find a friendly ear to listen to their troubles"

Theisman sits in silence, thinking about the past few weeks and realizes that, yes, it sounds like he does need this place. He looks back up at the other man and sees a sort of wry sympathy in his eyes. He realizes that if he's from a pre-prolong planet the other man might not be all that much older than he is, but somehow it feels right to be called boy by him.

"Call me Aral." The other speaks again.

"Tom," he answers. "And I suppose I did manage to find the place."

Aral chuckles briefly. "Belike" he says in his odd guttural accent.

So Tom talks, and talks. He speaks about Haven and his career in the navy. And then after a silence, he speaks about Masada and Grayson and about Blackbird station.

"I gave the prisoners to them." He whispers, finally. "I should have known, checked up on them, done something."

"Yes, you should have."Aral answers brutally and Tom rears back as if struck. "They were your prisoners and you had a responsibility towards them." He pauses briefly and then goes on more gently. "But you were also only a Lieutenant-Commander, a ship's CO, yes, but a very junior officer in the grand scheme of things. And your superiors wanted you to cooperate with the Masadans. You were responsible, but not, I think, at fault. You weren't there raping and murdering. And you did testify against the culprits." He pauses again. "You'll know better now, boy, though I'd wish the price hadn't been as high. But I'll tell you something from painful personal experience. Honour is what you know about yourself, reputation is what others know about you; guard your honour, let your reputation fall where it may, and outlive the bastards"

It shouldn't make him feel better. Aral doesn't pull his punches and is brutal in his condemnation. But that wry sympathy is still there in his eyes and he seems to understand, somehow. And some of the weight on his shoulders, some of the darkness in his mind has lifted.

Aral gets up and wobbles a bit. "The legs are the first to go," he grumbles, as he staggers to the door. Only after it closes on his back, Tom begins to wonder why Aral needed this place. _One more beer_ he thinks _and then I'll go back._

-2-

The next time he finds the quiet bar is after the deposition of the Legislaturists and the rise of the People's committee. The entire senior staff has been purged and the navy is in a state of confusion.

The purge missed him for being too junior an officer, too much a prole and too much a victim of legislaturist incompetence concerning the circumstances surrounding Second Yeltsin. He is a Commodore now and commands a battle-cruiser squadron at that. But he wonders about the new regime. The old one was corrupt and incompetent, certainly, but the new one came to power with too much blood for his taste. And Admiral Parnell was neither incompetent nor a traitor. It makes him wary. He loves his home but wonders about the people he serves. But he keeps quiet, guards his honour as much as he can and tries to survive in this new world.

This time the door is a grimy one in a back alley of an otherwise unremarkable industrial planet. His flagship is being resupplied and he has an afternoon's leave. He isn't entirely sure what brought him to the bad side of the poverty-stricken capital. But he isn't wearing his uniform and knows how to fight.

The interior hasn't changed since the last time, though more tables are taken and there are several people seated at the bar. Aral is one of them again and he grins at Tom when he notices him entering and gestures to the barstool next to him. Aral looks a little bit older, a little bit more worn, but he still has that unusual vibrancy around him.

"See you're back again, boy. I'd say it's good to see you, but considering the place..."

There is another one of those stone mugs in front of the other man and it doesn't take long for the bartender to bring Tom his beer. 

"What do you think about revolution?" Tom asks.

Something flickers at the back of Aral's eyes; sorrow and anger and regret and something like guilt.

"Sometimes it needs to be done; sometimes it's treason. What's the situation? You don't seem the revolutionary type," is his answer.

"I'm not." Tom replies. "The revolutionary type, that is. I wasn't talking about me personally...The legislaturist regime has been replaced, but the new one, I'm not sure..."

"Tell me about it." Aral offers. 

So again Tom unloads on him; about the navy and about the People's committee and about Admiral Parnell and his personal worries. And again he feels some of the burden lifting and wonders if Aral's advice will be as useful as it was last time.

"I don't think there's anything you could've done." Aral says. "Keep an eye out and protect your people, and don't let the bastards fool you. Hang in there 'till there is something you _can_ do. But that may take a while...What I said before still counts, you know. Guard your honour, let your reputation fall where it may, and _outlive_ the bastards."

It sounds like eminently sensible advice and Tom can't help but think of young Sharon Carter who will need the looking out for. He nods at himself, finishes his beer and stands to leave. But before he goes he turns to Aral, this stranger who became something of a mentor in only two conversations and says emphatically " _Thank You._ " 

Aral gives him a grin that seems to light up the room and Tom turns to leave, his heart a little lighter, his step a little easier.

-3-

The third time Tom finds the bar, he is back in Nouveau Paris. This time it is an understated elegant door in one of the few affluent living towers. He has come home after Fourth Yeltsin and he is being lauded as the hero who got his fleet home against overwhelming odds. Public Information and Cordelia Ransom at their finest. 

The bar is quiet again, only three tables occupied and two persons at the bar. Aral is one of them, and before he is noticed Tom wonders what brings the man to this bar. But then he is seen and exchanges nods with Aral. He climbs on the barstool next to him and sees their usual order of drinks, his beer already waiting for him and Aral with his strange stone mug. 

"Good to see you," Aral says, "I could do with hearing about someone else's problems for a change."

Tom chuckles. "Good to see you too. But shouldn't you be the one to be talking some time?"

Aral looks down into his mug and sighs. "No, the best thing you can do for me is let me help with a problem that has no effect on me what-so-ever. It'll be a relief to fix something without having to worry about a host of consequences."

Again Tom wonders what it is Aral actually does. For a minute he looked like someone who had the weight of a world on his shoulders. But the truth is, Tom could use Aral's advice. He believes he did the right thing at Yeltsin, but...but...Those new super-dreadnoughts were fakes he knows it, and if he would have told Le Pic...He could have had Harrington. He respects the woman immensely, there's no doubt about that, and he was dubious about arming the Masadans, but getting Harrington would have been an incredible victory for Haven. She is one of the Alliance's best, maybe only Admiral White Haven would be more valuable to take out. Even though her own planet doesn't seem to see it, he has no doubts at all about her capabilities, and he dreads what will happen when she'll inevitably gets back in Manticoran uniform. 

So he could have had her, though the cost would have been ruinous. He knows enough about her to be absolutely sure she would have fought her ships to the death to protect Grayson, and his battleships would have been hammered mercilessly, but he could have done it. So some times in the depth of night, he sits in his cabin on his flagship and wonders about the damage Harrington will do to Haven in the future, and that is when those nagging doubts creep in.

He tells Aral all of this and gets a considering look in return.

"And what makes all of it worse is that the public is praising you to high heaven, right?" Aral asks and Tom nods.

"I was lucky we stayed behind and possibly a coward because I chose to run, or rather manipulated my people's commissioner into ordering the retreat. So I don't particularly feel all the praise is justified. Hell, most of it, is straight up PubInt lies." 

"It could be worse, though, there's nothing worse than having your honour shattered at your feet, with your public reputation soaring. I don't think you lost your honour here, boy. You said it yourself, she would have hammered you mercilessly. And you have to wonder, how many of your people the life of one woman is worth. It's not like you could have finished your mission even if you had won. And it's not like you could have conquered Grayson, for that matter. Undoubtedly Havenites will face Harrington in the future, and she'll kill many of them. But Tom, you will also be alive, and don't doubt that you are important to the future of your star nation." With that last sentence Aral looks intently into Tom's eyes, and he seems to believe every word he says.

"I'm just a naval officer, Aral." Tom protests, "I'm nothing special."

Then Aral grins that grin of his. "I wouldn't doubt me Tom, I'm known to have somewhat of a reputation for personnel selection. I always get it right." Here he pauses and continues more seriously. "And about Harrington, she is an enemy, but I think she's an honourable enemy. And there's something to be said for an honourable enemy. Think on it, and drink your beer."

The bartender refills Aral's mug and gets Tom another beer. He is somewhat doubtful about Aral's words, but his advice has been solid in the past. And he is probably responsible for Tom surviving in such a way that he can still look at himself in the mirror each morning. So he decides to think on it, and takes a sip from his beer.

-4-

The fourth time he finds the bar, it is down a maintenance hatch on Barnett station, and that might just have saved his life. It's bad this time, really bad. Cordelia Ransom has just taken Honor Harrington away on the Tepes, and isn't that an ironic name for a ship, he wonders if StateSec knows. Right now Tom is on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid, something that will likely get him killed, but he just can't care. 

The place is full this time, the low murmuring of conversation in the air. And maybe that's a good thing, human contact driving back some of his black despair and self-destructive rage. Despite the busyness there's a free place on either side of Aral, who doesn't look particularly happy himself. Tom is just glad to see a familiar face and drops down on a barstool next to Aral with an unhappy grunt. The bartender appears almost immediately and sets a beer in front of Tom. "Just keep them coming." He says to the bartender, and drains the first beer in one long swallow.

Aral takes one look at him and asks "What's wrong?" Bloody perceptive that he is.

Tom wants to tell him, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a series of progressively more vulgar curses. Tom shuts his mouth again and takes a deep breath. Aral looks sympathetic and faintly amused. The next time he tries to speak, Tom gets the actual story out and Aral looks more and more serious and angry as the story goes on. When Tom is done talking he looks thoughtful and starts to speak.

"You remember that conversation we had about revolution?" He asks. Tom nods.

"Do you think you can go on doing what you were doing and keep your honour?"

This time Tom shakes his head. "Not any more, I'm probably going to do something that'll get me killed, the way things are going. And I don't think I'll care about it, I can't go on serving those...people." 

"Then maybe now _is_ the time for revolution. Like I said, sometimes it's treason, and sometimes it's the right thing to do, necessary. I think you don't believe your regime is salvageable any more. In that case I think it's time to act. Because no one else will, not for the right reasons. And it won't get better, not if things stay the way they are. So it's time for someone to step up, and if no one else will, it'll have to be you. Even if it's treason, even if you feel it's wrong. Because as things are, your government will only get worse and worse as time goes on. And that means that something will have to be done."

Tom looks at Aral, and then stares into his beer. And the thing is, Aral is right. He can't go on doing nothing, so he'll have to do something. And the only thing that he _can_ do that'll make a difference is to end the current regime, end the people's committee. Just, that is treason, but maybe...maybe this time treason will actually be the right thing. If things continue as they are...Tom can't countenance that. So, he has no choice, there's only one path for him. And with a nod to Aral he stands up and leaves. After all, he has a campaign to plan.

-5-

The fifth time Tom meets Aral, he is feeling both elated and slightly nauseous. The bar is full again this time, and the atmosphere is fairly upbeat and makes Tom want to sing and dance and when he thinks too much, throw up. Despite the general positive sense of the place Aral is looking tired and wan. There is a space on the right side of him and Tom takes the barstool.

"You all right, Aral?" Tom asks, somewhat concerned.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." Aral sighs into his stone mug. "And you, Tom? You look like you have some good news to share."

Tom grins at him and tells him about the past few days, ending with how he shot St. Just, looking just a bit green at the memory. "I've killed a lot of people Aral, but at a distance. I killed St. Just with my own two hands and the bastard had it coming. I certainly don't regret killing him and it felt important that I do it myself and not order someone else to do my dirty work. But...but I still felt a bit sick doing it."

"That's right and proper, boy." Aral answers. "The day you can look a man in the eye while you kill him and feel nothing...That's the day you should retire and never have power over others again."

Aral looks like he's remembering something from long ago and Tom wonders what pains him, what monsters hide in this man's past. He has helped Tom so much, and still he knows almost nothing about Aral. Just that he's an honourable man and that his advice is more sound than any he's been given before.

"So what happens now, boy?" Aral asks, suddenly looking stern and powerful and like a leader of men. "Are you going to take the reins."

"O hell no!" Tom exclaims. "We're going to make Haven a republic again. Eloise Pritchart is going to run for President. It's going to be the Republic of Haven again at last, with a proper constitution and popular representation. And if I'm lucky," he ads more quietly, "they'll never make me run the country."

"Ha." Aral barks and puts his hand on Toms shoulder. "You've done well, boy. Very well." He lifts his mug and says, "To the Republic of Haven."

"The Republic of Haven." Tom answers, beer in his hand and grin on his face.


End file.
